stamping on dead snow
futile fits of impatience
hastening Spring
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Aurelia
Another lament
and it is time
to more than dream
your metamorphosis
to more than find
your hysteresis
to more than bind
your Polyphemus
to escape the blindness
of sleeping Rhesus
of your own cave
your own cast
your cocoon.
Metamorphosis from Glenn Marshall on Vimeo.
and it is time
to more than dream
your metamorphosis
to more than find
your hysteresis
to more than bind
your Polyphemus
to escape the blindness
of sleeping Rhesus
of your own cave
your own cast
your cocoon.
Metamorphosis from Glenn Marshall on Vimeo.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Blood is the New Currency
Blood is the new currency.
Five hundred thousand Rand
a head
a shot.
This is easier than coke.
Cheaper than nukes.
And they will come.
The life blood is the animals now.
They are more than feeding.
They are life- the blood is the life.
And the guns.
The guns come from Mozambique.
But that must change.
Everything is changing now.
The Afrikaners are out.
The sanctions are out.
The secret is out.
It’s a market after all.
And there is supply.
And there is demand.
The “why not?" comes
upon you slowly
you suddenly realize
you are plotting
you are scheming
in the dance of the predator
and prey.
How you got there does not matter
now that you can see the heart
beating
in the chest of the mark.
It is simply a matter of when…
This is not an animal rights poem. This is not a hunting rights poem. This is not a judgment about any regime in South Africa. This is about irony, about predation as economics. This is self analysis, nothing more.
Five hundred thousand Rand
a head
a shot.
This is easier than coke.
Cheaper than nukes.
And they will come.
The life blood is the animals now.
They are more than feeding.
They are life- the blood is the life.
And the guns.
The guns come from Mozambique.
But that must change.
Everything is changing now.
The Afrikaners are out.
The sanctions are out.
The secret is out.
It’s a market after all.
And there is supply.
And there is demand.
The “why not?" comes
upon you slowly
you suddenly realize
you are plotting
you are scheming
in the dance of the predator
and prey.
How you got there does not matter
now that you can see the heart
beating
in the chest of the mark.
It is simply a matter of when…
This is not an animal rights poem. This is not a hunting rights poem. This is not a judgment about any regime in South Africa. This is about irony, about predation as economics. This is self analysis, nothing more.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Elixir
When all I can recall
is the tingle on my tongue,
when all I can remember
is the instinct of the young.
When the only memory
is the subtle scent of you.
When a taste of out of time
is my only useful clue,
I will know I wobbled
but will have spoken true.
is the tingle on my tongue,
when all I can remember
is the instinct of the young.
When the only memory
is the subtle scent of you.
When a taste of out of time
is my only useful clue,
I will know I wobbled
but will have spoken true.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Wisdom and Judgement
Just because you have a stick in your hand
does not mean you should treat a hornet’s nest
like a piñata.
does not mean you should treat a hornet’s nest
like a piñata.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Friday, February 06, 2009
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
On Cats and Condemnation
She is leopard
she is lithe
she is a loud torment
she resents
she resists
she remands
she remits
she refuses
the portents
then permits
she permits
the pigeon holes
masked balls
salacious snares
the cat calls
the faux brawls
lascivious lairs
fomenting
what can only be
a feline response
retract or recline
slink away, away
or drink the wine
or slash and flay
deny or dine
or deny
or delay
or devour
and become mine
and please
not master
mentor
nor mistress.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Sunday, February 01, 2009
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